


Die Hard

by jenny_wren



Category: Die Hard (Movies), Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8905351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: “Or live,” says Eames, “We could live. Living definitely has my vote.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I kind of fell out of writing for a bit for a few RL reasons, and I was searching for inspiration and thought it's Christmas, I'll borrow the best Christmas movie ever and go from there.

As she clicks through her spreadsheet projections, Ariadne sings softly under her breath – _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_ – although there isn’t much chance of that in LA. It’s a cheerful Christmas song though, which is more than her boss had managed for the past week. Ariadne hadn’t even known there were that many thoroughly depressing Christmas songs

“We have some good ones in the UK,” Eames said, manically over-cheerful, then broke into, “ _Oh don’t leave me alone like this, don’t say it’s the final kiss, won’t you stay another day._ ”

“Come on.” Ariadne griped, “no way is that a Christmas song.”

Two day later and Eames had somehow found the video for her, and yes there were parka-wrapped young men being snowed on, and Christmas bells, and it was about a hundred percent more depressing with the desperate harmonizing of _Stay, love, stay_.

“Okay, that’s worse than Last Christmas. You are officially cut off. Seriously are there any happy British Christmas songs?”

“ _You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot, Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it’s our last._ ”

“Oh my God, stop.” Ariadne threw her pen at him. Eames caught it because he was annoying like that.

“Less of the disrespect, missy. Or I’ll let Ellis steal you back off me.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him, “You can’t stand Ellis. You wouldn’t let him win if I set you on fire.”

“Well true, but could you at least look threatened. You’ll damage my fragile masculinity.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes again. Eames was about as fragile as a brick shit house when it came to work, prejudice, or indeed anything at all except for his estranged partner. She might tease him for singing _Lonely this Christmas_ but that was because she couldn’t stand the way his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. Ariadne had never met Arthur except through the shadows in Eames’ face, but she was pretty sure she hated him.

Arthur had promised to come to LA the week before Christmas and Eames had switched to more cheerful songs (for a given value of cheerful) and then Arthur had cancelled his flight because he needed to wrap up a case.

Ariadne had ducked out the room when Eames’ voice started to rise, he only got loud when he was talking to Arthur. On the other side of the door she clutched her hands and tried not to listen too closely. She didn’t pick up more than a word or two but the tone came through clearly enough. Finally there was an angry,

“Whatever you say, _darling_ ,” and a smashing crash as the phone hit the wall.

Ariadne winced, took a deep breath, and cautiously poked her head around the door. Eames was sitting slumped at his desk, face hidden in his hands.

“Boss?”

His shoulders jerked, then straightened, and he sat up. His face was carefully blank as he fussily twitched his jacket into place.

“You okay boss?”

He glanced down at his flexing hand, “The harder you try to hold onto a fistful of sand, the faster it disappears on you.

“Only if it’s a very stupid fistful of sand,” said Ariadne firmly. 

“You ridiculous person.” Eames cracked into peals of laughter. Then stopped abruptly when he started to get choky, like there were some tears getting mixed in there. He shook his head, “Thank you, I needed that. But you’re still a ridiculous person.”

“It was nothing but the truth.” 

Eames is amazing, Arthur should appreciate that. Ariadne is going to have words with him – if he ever shows up.

It’s Christmas Eve now, Arthur is supposed to be flying in from New York and Eames is as fidgety as a five year old waiting for Santa. Ariadne sent him off to go and check on the arrangements for the party, because leaving it to Ellis is a disaster in the making. No way did she trust him not to try and spike the punch with something stronger than vodka.

She’s just printing off the last of the documents when the door opens,

“Ah this is where you’re hiding, sweetheart.”

Ariadne groans silently to herself because it’s Ellis. She is not in the mood for dealing with Ellis.

“I’m busy,” she says briskly.

“It’s Christmas, come join in the fun. Eames works you too hard. You should let me take you out for dinner to make up for it.” He walks slowly over to her, “Roaring fire, mulled wine, exquisite food,” he trails one hand up her arm, “exquisite company.”

She whisks herself to the other side of the photocopier, shaking with anger because she hates being frightened.

“I told you I’m busy.”

“Come on, all work and no play makes Jill a very dull girl. And it’s not like that fag is going to play with you.”

Spine stiffening, because people thinking they can insult Eames in her presence is something Ariadne can deal with, she glares back at him.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Ooh kitten’s showing her claws. You’re such a feisty little thing.”

Ariadne hates him fiercely, “Was I unclear in some way. Leave. Now.”

They both jump as the door slams back into the wall and cuts off whatever he was going to sleaze next. Eames looms into the room,

“Ellis, I thought I told you to quit harassing my staff.”

“I thought you people were in to as much sex as you could get. You’re as prudish as a goddamn nun. You should – “ 

Eames left hand clenches into a fist and the gold band the law won’t let him call a wedding ring glints in the light.

“Think very carefully about continuing this conversation. Because there’s nothing I’d enjoy more than smashing all your teeth.” Eames rolls his shoulders forward and there’s suddenly the air is thick with threat.

“Such a dog in the manager.”

Eames growls.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Ellis saunters towards the door, “So uncivilized.”

Eames snaps after him, “Us people are like that.” He paces Ellis out the room and shuts the door firmly behind him. Then he groans and shakes his arms out.

“God I cannot stand that man. Maybe if I speak nicely to Arthur he could accidentally shoot him a couple of times.”

“In the head,” adds Ariadne, because specificity is important.

“Blood-thirsty wench.” He tilts his head towards her, sharp eyes assessing. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Take more than that creep to upset me.”

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t look convinced and mutters, “definitely having a word with Arthur.”

“Talking about Arthur,” says Ariadne quickly, eager to divert the conversation and to deliver good news. “The driver we sent called in. He’s picked Arthur up as scheduled and should be here soon.”

“Great,” says Eames. He doesn’t look as enthused as she expected.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “Yes it is. Sorry Ariadne. I’m just feeling very tired at the moment.” He drops his hands and smiles brightly at her, “Shall we go and join the party.”

It looks like the very last thing he wants to do. So Ariadne says,

“Do you just want to sign these figures off first?”

“Let’s do that.”

They’re still working over the next six month’s projections when there’s a knock at the door and Mr Takagi is there.

“Here they are,” he says to the figure behind him, and then turns to them and scolds, “You work too hard. You should join the party.”

“Yes sir,” says Eames, “We’ll be right down.”

Mr Takagi looks at Eames standing there stiff and formal, then glances behind him at the equally stiff and formal man there.

“Well, I’ll leave you to discuss things with your,” Takagi’s face wrinkles over the concept of husbands or partners and he settles on, “police man.”

“Thank you sir.”

Mr Takagi nods his head to them and leaves. Neither Eames nor presumably-Arthur move. Ariadne shifts impatiently. She wasn’t expecting a movie scene reconciliation with them flinging themselves into each other’s arms (although she’d maybe hoped) but she’d thought there’d be more than this. She shifts again and it’s Arthur who breaks.

He strides easily into the room, “Yes sir, thank you sir. Jesus Christ Eames, did moving to LA give you a personality transplant.”

“You dick,” says Eames.

“Well that’s more like it. I was worried I was going to have to call Dom and tell him you’d been replaced by a clone.”

Ariadne blinks at the strange apparition. It’s not that her imagined Arthur was a cop stereotype – okay so it totally was, that’s all irrelevant now – but she can’t imagine anybody looking less like a cop than Arthur. He’s probably not as short as his slight build makes it seem but he certainly isn’t big. He’s slim and sharp-edged with slicked back hair and he’s wearing a three-piece suit. Ariadne didn’t think anybody wore them now, much less cops.

“You dick,” says Eames again. “I don’t even,” he rubs his hands over his face. “Ariadne, would you mind,” he begs muffled.

“Sure boss.” She retreats out the room to give them privacy, but she deliberately leaves the door open a crack so she can keep an eye on things. She’s not being nosy, she tell herself, she’ll leave it gets personal or, or intimate – her face flushes at the thought – but she wants to be sure things are okay, she doesn’t want to leave Eames until she’s sure he doesn’t need a convenient interruption.

Eames drops his hands and stares at Arthur. He looks like a starving man offered food he can’t eat. When he speaks his voice is painfully casual,

“So how’ve you been?”

“Not bad.”

“No trouble at work? Nobody figured..?”

Arthur shakes his head, “No, Arthur Denton is still firmly in the closet.”

“That’s good I guess.” Eames glances at the floor. He confessed to Ariadne once that he’d been tempted to out Arthur and force him to give up his badge.

Arthur sighs, and rubs his right hand against his left. He’s wearing a ring that’s a match for the one on Eames’ hand. After a moment he says,

“Arthur Eames though…” and stretches out his arm over the distance between him and Eames. 

With a soft sigh Eames catches Arthur’s hand in his own shaking one and Ariadne likes to think she can hear the rings clink gently together. 

“I,” Arthur starts and then stops himself.

“Yeah,” Eames agrees. He shudders a breath and drops Arthur’s hand. He straightens his suit, abruptly all business. “Look, I have to at least show my face at this party. If you come too, the gossip vultures will descend and we’ll never get out of here. Why don’t you wash up and I’ll meet you back here as soon as I can.”

“Sure,” says Arthur. “I’m not really up for being social at the moment anyway.”

“Okay then. The bathroom’s through there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I’ll be good,” Arthur promises.

Eames starts towards the door, then swings back to grab Arthur in a hug. They don’t kiss, just hold each other tightly. Finally Eames steps back,

“Be,” then he stops and shakes himself, “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know,” says Arthur. “Go do your thing, we’ll talk later.”

“Promise,” says Eames, suddenly fierce.

“I promise.”

Eames is blinking hard as he walks out the door. Ariadne has an excuse ready on her lips about how she was sent back to fetch him, but Eames doesn’t ask her why she’s there, just shoots his cuffs and smiles determinedly,

“Okay, let’s do this thing.”

Ariadne sticks close to his side, she’s just about adjusted to the wall of noise that is the party when the men with guns show up.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a disorientating moment where Ariadne thinks she’s imagining things, then she thinks it’s a trick, and then the leader clicks his fingers and a hail of bullets is slicing through the Christmas tree.

Ariadne shrieks, her alarm melding with the screams of the others. Hands grab her and it takes her a second to recognize it’s Eames as he yanks her down onto the floor with him, tucking her against the solid weight of his body.

Just in front of them Ms Gennaro, the new boss who came over from New York last month, grabs the arms of the two women she’s talking with and drags them to the floor too.

The terrorist leader holds up one fist and the noise of the guns cuts out. 

“Guten Abend,” the leader says formally. He’s not loud but his voice echoes around the suddenly silent room. Somewhere somebody is whimpering. Ariadne presses her hand over her mouth in case it’s her. Eames holds her a little bit tighter. 

“Now that I have your attention, unless you want to end up like the tree, I suggest you sit down,” his voice roars to an abrupt crescendo. Ariadne flinches as people drop to the floor around her like dominos. 

Ellis is still on his feet when Eames stretches up, seizes his wrist and yanks him off his feet.

“What was that for?” Ellis whines.

“Don’t be more of an idiot than you have to be.”

“I don’t see why I should grovel on the floor for these imbeciles.”

“Oh my God, how coked out are you? Just sit down and keep quiet.”

“Both of you shut up,” snaps Ms Gennaro. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves.”

Ellis hmphs and retreats into a sulky huddle. Eames offers Ms Gennaro a quick salute and turns away watch the intruders.

There are three of them. The blond leader, and two balaclaved henchmen. One of the henchmen disappears into a side room and escorts Mindy and Steve back into the room. Mindy and Steve are still pulling their clothes back on and have ducked their heads sheepishly avoiding each other’s eyes, and everyone else’s. Ariadne goes hot with sympathetic embarrassment because how mortifying to be caught like that, and how much has Mindy had to drink? She doesn’t even like Steve, at least that’s what she said.

Then of course their situation comes back to her and she feels like an idiot for worrying about something that really doesn’t matter in comparison to, say, getting _shot_. But still.

“I did not know about them,” says Eames, showing that he’s at least as distracted as she is. “Did you know about them?”

Ariadne shakes her head.

Ms Gennaro tuts, sounding so exactly like Ariadne’s mother it makes her twitch,

“As much as I understand the importance of good gossip, could we maybe concentrate on the men with guns?”

“Yes ma’am.” Eames twists around to face her.

“So am I right and that was German?”

“Yep,” says Eames. “He said Good Evening as formal and polite as if he was at the opera.”

Ms Gennaro scowls.

Ariadne watches as the other henchman comes back with no more people. And she realizes who’s missing.

“Eames,” she gasps, “where’s Arthur?”

He turns his head away from her so she can’t see his face, “I don’t know.”

“Who’s Arthur?” demands Ms Gennaro.

“Didn’t you know?” Ellis wriggles towards them like the snake he is, “Our Mr Eames has alternative tastes. Arthur is his, now what is the term…”

“Husband,” snaps Eames into the deliberate pause before Ellis can come up with an insult. “Arthur is my husband and if you sneer at him I will break your nose regardless of the men with guns. Sorry Ms Gennaro.”

“No, no,” she says, and Ariadne can almost hear the click-click-click in her head as she reevaluates the situation and Eames. Ariadne tenses, ready to defend if the woman kicks up rough.

“I know it’s a shock, to find out such a thing about a trusted colleague,” smarms Ellis as he attempts to put his arm around Ms Gennaro’s shoulders.

She jabs him in the ribs. “It is something of a shock,” she agrees, “because you told me he was having an affair with his intern.”

“What!” yelps Ariadne. Eames jerks away from her and she grabs him back, because sure she’s appalled by Ellis’ insinuation, but it’s not true and there are still men with guns about. She feels a lot safer with Eames right there.

“The one doesn’t preclude the other,” Ellis tries, but it’s a weak effort.

“Uh huh,” says Ms Gennaro. “How about we forget this whole conversation and I won’t let Mr Eames here break your nose?”

“Fine.” Ellis slithers off to go bother somebody else. 

“Not sure that’s a promise you should be making,” says Eames.

Ms Gennaro ignores him, “Tell me where Arthur is?”

“We left him in Eames’ office,” says Ariadne. “But they haven’t found him, so he must have moved.”

“So he’s hiding somewhere?”

Eames groans, “Oh I wish.”

A sharp gunshot makes them all cringe. A third henchman is reporting in to the leader as the other two stand watchfully by.

“Alright then,” the leader says, and Ariadne can here the German in his accent now, “Pay attention and this will all be over soon. I presume the obdurate individual who feels able to ignore my instructions is in fact Mr Tagaki?”

Mr Tagaki, still standing but looking nervous about it nods his head, “I am he? What is it you want with me and my people?”

“Very little. You’re rather incidental to our plan.”

“And what is that? Some protest over our development projects?”

“You are entirely mistaken, we are much more interested in contents of your vault. The $640 million in bearer bonds to be precise.”

“You’re thieves.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. You should be grateful. Thieves are so much more reasonable than fanatics. Now it would make our lives simpler if you would provide the codes for the vault.”

“Why, they won’t help you. There’s seven stages to unlocking our vault. The codes are only one part.”

“Then you should have no objection to telling me?”

“I don’t know them.”

Ariadne has a sick feeling in her stomach. Eames takes off his suit jacket and rolls his sleeves up.

The leader scoffs, “And I do not believe you.”

“It’s the truth, you’ll need to fly to Tokyo if you want them.”

“Well you’ve suddenly become useless to me.” The leader nods at the third henchman, who raises his gun.

Eames jerks to his feet, “Hey, hey, let’s not get carried away here.” He starts to stroll forward. Ariadne has to stop herself from clutching after him. 

“Shooting Mr Takagi isn’t going to get you any closer to your goals, so why waste your time.” He’s reached the henchmen now. He pats one on the shoulder, another on the arm,

“You’re thieves, the police won’t care about you. You’re a murderer on the other hand and they’ll never stop hunting you.” He nudges the leader with his elbow. The leader scowls and steps away.

“And you know so much about police procedure Mister – ”

“He’s right,” Ms Gennaro says before Eames can answer. She quickly scrambles to her feet. “My husband’s a cop. They never let up on murders. Two-bit thieves on the other hand…”

“I like to think we’re a little more than two-bit thieves. I’m sure Mr Takagi reporting the loss to his bosses will definitely think so. That idea has its entertaining side. Fine everybody sit down and we’ll do this the long way. Take it up with Mr Takagi when you get hungry.” He turns to his third man,

“You, get going.”

With a nod the man is gone, quickly followed by one of the others.

Ms Gennaro collapses down beside Ariadne. “I think my shakes have the shakes.”

Eames saunters back and seats himself beside them. “What was that about not drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Oh shut up,” says Ms Gennaro. “And how do you know so much about police procedure?”

“Arthur’s a detective back in New York.”

Her eyes go wide. “If he’s anything at all like John, he’s definitely not hiding.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Things settle down a bit after that. The intruders even seem a little distracted. Ariadne asks after Ms Gennaro’s husband.

“He’s still in New York insisting he doesn’t have time to come out for Christmas. The children miss him but I’m not going to let him use them to blackmail me.”

“And do you miss him?”

Ms Gennaro doesn’t say anything so Ariadne figures that’s a yes.

Eames shifts so his back is to the intruders, “Tell me if they start coming this way,” and he flips his jacket over his arm to reveal a CB radio.

“Where did you get that from?” demands Ms Gennaro.

“Misspent youth, don’t tell your husband.”

“What about Arthur?” she asks archly.

“He was part of the misspending. Now let’s see.” He starts to fiddle with the dials.

“You pickpocketed those men?” Ariadne hisses as she figures it out. “Are you crazy? What happens when they realize their radio’s gone?”

“Would you tell that psychotic little wanker you’d mislaid your radio?”

Ariadne glances at the blond leader, “No.”

“There you go then. Ah-ha, now we’re cooking by gas.”

The radio crackles quietly into life and she can hear Arthur arguing with a dispatcher. Ms Gennaro laughs,

“He sounds just like John.”

Eames shakes his head, “There’s nobody like Arthur.” Then he goes quiet as they hear the leader order Karl and Henrich to deal with the wild card.

They listen quietly as Arthur fights and kills and curses the policeman who’s actually abandoning them until the rattle of gunfire draws him back. They hear the gunfire twice faintly from the radio and the echo of the roar from the upstairs. Eames covers his face with back of his hand.

The leader swears and orders his men to stay off the radio. Ariadne grins to hear his urbanity so fractured. The grin drops away as she listens to Arthur detail the situation to the cop. It sounds really bad.

“Don’t look so worried,” says Eames. “Arthur will get it sorted. He’s really quite frighteningly efficient.”

“Not so much like John,” says Ms Gennaro with an attempt at a smile.

Arthur curses some more, kills another man, and curses again.

“Sure sounds like John though,” says Ms Gennaro.

The cop outside asks him how he is, Arthur says he’s fine.

“You little liar,” says Eames.

The cop tells him about his wife. Arthur admits to having someone special, an adopted sister, although technically he was the one that was adopted, and a brother-in-law he’s going to kill one day because Dom is an idiot who deserves it.

“Should you be admitting that over an open line,” teases the cop.

“Anyone who’d met him would consider it fucking justifiable.”

“Bloody hell, I’d give you a medal,” mutters Eames.

“Not a fan?” asks Ariadne.

“No,” says Eames tightly.

Arthur kills another henchman and taunts the leader.

“I have to introduce him to John,” says Ms Gennaro. “They’d get on like a house on fire.”

“So perhaps not the best idea,” says Eames.

Ariadne considers that, “Guess it depends how fond you are of your house.”

And then Arthur blows up what feels like half the building to stop the intruders taking out the police SWAT team. Ariadne is hard put not to cheer. She enjoys listening to the increasingly rattled leader demand his team find the detonators and doesn’t notice that the other hostages are getting increasingly rattled too.

Ellis is getting to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Eames demands in a fierce whisper, “Sit the hell down.”

“I’m getting tired of waiting to see who ends up dead first, them or your husband?”

“Ellis get back here.” Eames starts to scramble to his feet but one of the henchmen is suddenly there shoving him back and grabbing Ellis’ jacket to drag him forwards.

“Whoa, let’s not get all handsy here. I’m the man that can solve your problems.”

“Oh?” says the leader. He looks thoroughly unimpressed with Ellis. Ariadne figures you have to be a total sleaze if a murderous thief who holds up people at gun point disapproves of you.

“You want the Cowboy upstairs to stop fucking up your plans, I can make that happen.”

Ariadne begins to get a very bad feeling about this. Eames untangles himself from her clutch and pushes her towards Ms Gennaro who pulls her close.

“Eames?” she whispers plaintively.

“Hell I’m sorry Ariadne, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The leader smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “Well tell me more, Mr Negotiator.”

“That Cowboy just happens to consider himself married to one of the staff here.”

“Oh?”

“Now it’s not something the law recognizes but they seem quite attached for a couple of fags.”

Eames places their CB radio in Ariadne’s lap, covers her with his jacket, and stands up. “Enough Ellis. Go crawl back into your hole.”

“This man?” demands the leader.

Ellis grins. Ariadne doesn’t care what it takes she is going to figure out a way to kill him. Ms Gennaro hushes her and she realizes she’s speaking out loud.

“I don’t care,” she snarls back. “I want him dead.”

“He’ll pay for it I promise.”

Ariadne’s pretty sure Ms Gennaro just doesn’t get it, but that’s okay, Arthur is going to shoot Ellis dead. And then she thinks about guns and Eames and being shot. She tries to choke down her sob.

Eames has picked his way through the crowd to stand on his own.

“So tell me who my Cowboy is?

Eames smiles, “Sergeant Arthur Denton, no Sergeant Arthur Eames NYPD. And he’s not yours.”

Ariadne shivers at the dark flash of anger in the leader’s eyes. He raises the CB radio and Arthur hears his voice boom across the room and hiss from the radio she’s holding in her white-knuckled grip.

“Are you there Officer Denton?”

“No idea who you’re talking to,” says Arthur’s voice.

“No? I have somebody here you might want to speak to, Officer Eames.”

“Still no idea what you’re talking about,” but Arthur’s voice has gone sharp and wary.

“I need those detonators and explosives back. Surrender them and yourself to me and I’ll let you live.”

“I honestly surprised you can stand up under all that shit you’re shoveling.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try and be more polite? Perhaps this will change your mind?” He holds the radio out to Eames.

“Arthur,” says Eames.

“Hey,” says Arthur.

“Men,” mutters Ms Gennaro.

“You’re pleading for your life,” growls the leader, “could you sound a little more eloquent.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes darling?”

“Blow ‘em up for me.”

“As you wish.”

The leader’s eyes cross as his face scrunches up with anger.

“Also.” Eames is still smiling gently. “Do me a favor. Turn the radio off for the next five minutes.”

“Sure thing,” says Arthur. Ariadne’s pretty sure that’s a no. The leader raises his gun. Ms Gennaro pulls her closer, tucking Ariadne’s face into the safety of her shoulder.

“Don’t look, sweetheart.”

Ariadne yanks her head away from the false comfort in time to hear the bang and see the red stain bloom across Eames’ chest as he crumples to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Ariadne slams her hands down over her eyes and mouth to try and keep her reaction inside. Over the radio Arthur screams for her. Thin strong arms curl around her but she shoves away from Ms Gennaro’s grasp. She doesn’t want anyone touching her right now, she thinks she might hurt them.

When she’s recovered enough to hear more than the thunder of blood in her ears there’s Arthur’s voice on the radio.

“This time I’m going to string you up by your balls and _nobody_ is going to stop me.”

“Come here and say it my face,” the blond leader shoots back, but he doesn’t sound quite so smug any more. Ariadne grins with savage satisfaction.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Arthur warns and she can hear him start to move before the radio goes abruptly silent losing the faint white noise of the open connection. 

Ms Gennaro reaches for her again and this time Ariadne lets herself be drawn into a hug.

“Listen,” Ms Gennaro whispers fiercely and Ariadne stiffens unwilling to tolerate any platitudes. “You need to pay attention to the ones with balaclavas. We have security cameras, the police will be able to get a good image of the leader, but the others – the police will need every scrap of intelligence we can provide if they’re going to be able to pin it on them.”

Oh, a mission. The storm inside her shrinks down to pinpoint focus. Ariadne can do this.

She looks over at the intruders. There’s not much to see. She hadn’t thought about it until Ms Gennaro said, but there’s not much to identify them. They’re wearing large baggy denim overalls, black boots, and black knitted balaclavas. The leader has retreated and one of his henchmen, that’s the shortest one, goes too, taking his arm and talking emphatically. The other henchman rubs at the beard just visible through the balaclava and eyes Ariadne’s fellow guests, rifle loose in one hand

After noting all the details carefully and her mind feels coolly controlled, she risks a glance at Eames. He’s horribly still, limbs sprawled, red spilling lurid bright across his white shirt but he doesn’t look… he doesn’t look _hurt_. He looks like he might get up at any moment. She thinks that might be the most awful part.

The third henchman from before, the skinny one, slams into the room panting hard. He’s shaking one hand like it’s cramped and Ariadne can see blood on his knuckles. He’s been fighting Arthur, been punching Arthur. Ariadne watches as he goes straight to the leader, and oh God, is going to tell him Arthur’s _hurt_ too.

But no, whatever he said too quietly for her to hear doesn’t make the leader happy, he shoves his henchman away roughly,

“And clean up that mess.”

Because Ariadne is fixated on those bloody knuckles she can the henchman’s hands clench into fists and for a second she has the wild hope he’ll strike the leader.

“That’s good,” says Ms Gennaro, “Division in the ranks, we can use that.”

Ariadne looks at her, “Are you sure you’re not the cop in your family?”

“No that’s a fairly standard negotiating tactic. Though possibly there’s some of John in there. His favorite tactic is pissing everyone off until they’re too mad to make sensible decisions.”

“Sounds like Eames.” Who was sometimes deliberately aggravating until the opposition signed whatever he wanted so they could get out the room before they killed him.

_Killed him_. Ariadne gulps. Then all her sensible thoughts fly out of her head as the skinny henchman, ignoring the bloody stain, loops his arms around Eames’ chest and drags his limp body out the room.

Ariadne presses her face into her knees and breathes through her mouth.

The radio by her side fuzzes into life.

“Uh hey man,” it’s the cop outside. “Arthur isn’t it?”

There’s a long pause then as Arthur doesn’t answer him.

“Arthur. We’ve been in contact with the NYPD. Woke some people up. You’re not a popular man in certain quarters at the moment, so sorry about that.”

“Never was,” says Arthur, he sounds tired.

“Your Captain has admitted he knew you had a male partner when you moved to his precinct.”

“’Admitted’ makes it sound like you think there was a problem.”

“No, no. No problem here. He said if prejudice meant he got to grab a great officer going begging, nobody could blame him for taking advantage. Said you knew the law better than a lawyer.”

Arthur maybe laughs, “Barracks room law. You should hear Eam – ” and then he cuts himself off.

“So we know. That it was your partner they just shot. So we want you to sit down and take a breather. We’ll get them for you buddy, I promise.”

There’s long pause and finally Arthur says, “You’re a good man.”

“Uh thank you?”

“So stop talking to me.”

“He wouldn’t want you to do this. Arthur listen to me. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Arthur stays silent. The cop keeps on trying to raise him, but Arthur’s gone.

Before Ariadne can decide if she can risk trying to talk to him and maybe giving away her possession of the radio – and whether she should be trying to talk him down or cheer him on – another henchman appears, bigger and broader, who galvanizes the intruders into action.

Suddenly they are all being ordered up on their feet and down the stairs. Ariadne hides the radio carefully under Eames’ jacket and quietly follows Ms Gennaro. 

The intruders move them in small groups. Ariadne stays meekly behind Ms Gennaro as their group, the last, starts to move. The clatter of all those feet on the stairs is loud and shocking. The fug that’s surrounded her shatters and Ariadne stumbles, pitching forward too intent on clinging to the jacket and radio to catch herself. Somebody grabs the collar of her shirt, yanking her back against a solid body. She gasps with relief, then turns her head to look up and up at the bigger henchman.

She cringes away and the henchman growls. He drags Ms Gennaro back with a sharp tug on her arm and shoves Ariadne at her. Ms Gennaro curls her arm around her and pulls her close.

“Come on Ariadne, it’s going to be okay.”

Ariadne edges away from the uncomfortable hold and presses her lips firmly together so she doesn’t say anything.

They finally reach the first floor and the leader gestures for them all to sit down again. The shorter one slowly works through the group taping their wrists together. Ariadne tucks the radio into lap, lays Eames’ jacket carefully over it and then draws her knees up to her chest before holding out her hands palms up. The henchman tapes them quickly, then pats at her hair. Ariadne jerks her head away and glares back. The henchman sighs and backs off.

Ariadne waits until they’re looking away, then starts to struggle against the tape. Her wrists weren’t pinned quite together so there’s a little bit of give and when she rolls her wrists so they’re facing it gets easier.

“Somethings definitely wrong,” says Ms Gennaro.

Ariadne glares at her in speechless fury, because _now_ something’s wrong. But Ms Gennaro’s right in a way. The leader is bristling all over with tension as the bigger henchman muscles into his space and the skinny one is stalking over. Then the shorter one speaks low and rough,

“We don’t have time for this. We need to get to the roof.”

“Fine,” snaps the leader, and then, “You know I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Now is not the time. Come on.”

“Fine,” the leader glares down at their huddled ranks, “First person to move gets shot. Understand.”

They all nod obediently. Ariadne hides her wrists behind her raised knees and continues to struggle against the tape.

The leader and all the henchmen leave. For a few moments there’s silence, then a burst of excited chatter as people ask what’s going on and demand to know if they dare risk moving.

Ariadne hates them all. She’s managed to get her wrists untangled though so that’s something. The touchy-feely henchman hadn’t used enough pressure to seal it in place.

The radio in her lap squawks.

It’s Arthur, “Hey Ariadne.” 

“Yes, I’m here,” she responds immediately, before realizing perhaps she shouldn’t.

“I really am very sorry about everything.”

“No wait,” she stutters.

“And also you should get out of here as quickly as possible. Go now.”

Ariadne scrabbles to her feet because there’s something very final in Arthur’s voice. The cop outside is on the radio calling for Arthur, and then another voice takes over demanding the cowboy stand down. She ignores them as unimportant.

She drops the radio, it clearly has no further use, and slips on Eames’ jacket wrapping it around herself.

“Everybody get up,” she yells, “We need to get out of here.”

Ms Gennaro is already levering herself up onto her feet. She thrusts her wrists at Ariadne, who starts to unpick the tape, and issues orders in a loud firm voice, shutting down Ellis when he tries to interrupt.

The crowd listens to her but it takes a long, aching time for them to get to their feet and get moving. They’re in sight of the doors when the explosions start and then everyone is running.

They stumble outside into the cold air in a mess of confused shouts and screams as a final rattling blast make the ground shake and the air tremble. When Ariadne glances back, she sees Arthur has blown off the top of the Nakatomi building.

“Eames did say he was efficient,” she says, she doesn’t think anybody hears her.

 

Then everything is just chaos. There are ambulances, and police, and news crews, and people, so many people all trying to talk to her, at her, around her. At some point Ms Gennaro finds her. She wraps her arm protectively around Ariadne’s shoulders and after that things aren’t so bad and Ariadne has some quiet in which to think.

She’s almost chased down the thread of the idea haunting her when a man roars,

“Holly.”

And Ms Gennaro spins around and gasps,

“John.”

The man, Mr Gennaro presumably, elbows aside the policeman shadowing him and crashes towards them.

“Holly, fucking hell, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m okay. John, John, however did you get here so fast.”

“I was already on my way. I realized, well Cap made me realize I was being an asshole so I caught a late flight to surprise you and I was on my way to the house, when I heard on the radio, so I came straight here. Of course the bastards in charge wouldn’t give me the time of day until they realized a New York cop was inside. Then they were all over me. And fucking hell, was it really Arthur Denton in there? Really? That uptight asshole? Seriously?”

“Hey,” says Ariadne coming out of her haze abruptly. Arthur belongs to Eames and if Eames isn’t here to defend him, she will.

“Sorry little miss. But seriously?” John stares up at the wreck of the building. “The boy does good work.”

“You knew him?” asks Ms Gennaro.

“Knew him? Nah, nobody _knew_ Arthur. Kept himself to himself. Guess I know why now. But he wasn’t interested in making friends. Or even acquaintances really. Good cop though.”

That sounded like Eames. He didn’t socialize with the rest of the guys, or even really talk to anybody. He probably would never have talked to Ariadne either, except he walked in one time when Ellis was making things difficult and three days later Ariadne found herself reassigned and life was so much better, better than she could have imagined.

Ms Gennaro and her husband are soon talking about other things, things that matter to them, that John is an asshole but he actually came, and what happened to his hand, oh he barked his knuckles on some idiot’s teeth when they tried to force him out the incident command center, and you can’t just go around punching people, why the hell not, at least I’ve never blown the roof off a goddamn building.

Ariadne stays quietly in their shadow and thinks hard.

She thinks about how Sherlock Holmes says you should look at the end result and not the window dressing. She thinks about the fact that the end result is that the intruders, Arthur, and Eames have all effectively vanished in a puff of smoke. As has $640 million dollars in bearer bonds.

She thinks about Eames and Arthur apologizing. She thinks about the skinny henchman who as so angry when Eames was shot. She thinks about the big henchman who grabbed her close before she could fall down the stairs and how she wasn’t scared until she realized her was too tall, because he was standing on the step above her.

She thinks Eames had better be alive because she’s going to kill him.

“I have to go.”

“Ariadne?” Ms Gennaro breaks off telling her husband about their children, “You’ve had a bad shock. You should go to the hospital. John and I will come with you.”

“I what,” splutters John, but he subsides under his wife’s glare. “You do look a bit shocky,” he says to Ariadne, “and you should get checked out too Holly.”

“I have to go to the airport,” says Ariadne wildly, because her minds moving too slowly and she’s only just realized Eames will be flying out as soon as possible and if she isn’t fast she’ll be too late to catch him and she’ll never see him again. “I have to go.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” says John carefully.

“I have to go see my mother,” she improvises madly, although her mind boggles at what her mother would do if she actually showed up, if her mother even recognized her.

“That’s an excellent idea,” says Ms Gennaro. “You need to be with the people you love.” 

That’s fine but the people Ariadne loves are about to fly out of her life. “I have to go.” Of course she doesn’t love Arthur exactly but Eames does and it looks like Arthur staying in New York was part of a plan and not him being an asshole to Eames so she likes him a lot better, and she has to _go_.

John whistles up a cab and the Gennaros load her inside and pay the cabbie to take her to the airport.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright,” says Ms Gennaro, leaning into the cab to give her another hug, “I can’t help thinking I should insist you go to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine. I want to see my mother.”

Ms Gennaro glances back at her husband. She has a lot more important things to worry about than Ariadne.

“Go on,” says Ariadne, “I’ll be fine. My mother will,” she stalls out then before coming back with, “roast chestnuts on an open fire.”

Fortunately Ms Gennaro is too distracted to notice she just quoted one of Eames’ song lyrics and is already easing out the cab. John shuts the door and they both wave her off.

Ariadne hugs herself as the cab drives too slowly to the airport. She’s not wrong, she’s not delusional. It actually makes more sense the longer she thinks about it. She will get to the airport and she will find Eames.

The airport is packed full of travelers and her resolve quavers. She hadn’t really thought this part through. She’s considering standing on one of the chairs for extra height it will give her when she spots Arthur loitering by the baggage trollies. It takes her a second to be sure it’s him because the three piece suit is gone replaced by jeans and a black leather jacket and the slicked back hair now flops around his face. He looks about ten years younger. But it’s definitely Arthur.

She shrieks. 

Everybody’s staring but she doesn’t care about them. Arthur turns to look at her, he doesn’t move just sort of braces himself.

She shrieks again because it really is him and, oh god, then she’s dodging through the crowd.

“Arthur,” she grabs his arms and tries to shake the answer she wants out of him. “Arthur where’s Eames? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, I promise, he’s fine.”

And Ariadne bursts into tears.

“Hey, he’s fine. But very unhappy about how things turned out. And if you could please stop crying that would be good because otherwise he really is going to kill me.”

“Arthur?”

Ariadne’s knees go weak because that’s Eames. Eames looking more casual than she’s ever seen him in jeans and hoodie with his hair cut short against his skull.

“Arthur what’s..? Ariadne!”

“Eames.”

And then Eames is hugging her tight and Ariadne is absolutely going to stop crying, just not anytime soon.

“I hope you sent them a long way away, because if I see that wanker again I’m going to kill him,” says Eames over her head to Arthur and Ariadne swipes at her eyes and tries to pay attention.

“You think I’m any happier with him?” demands Arthur. “Particularly after that stunt he pulled of shooting you. The agreement was if you had to get shot, I would do it. No way do I trust Dom to pick the gun with blanks. Waiting to see if he’d actually shot you was the worst few seconds of my life, when I heard you fall to the floor…”

Arthur stops speaking and Ariadne can hear him take a few deep, noisy breaths.

She gulps and makes an effort to recover, “So that wasn’t you being all calm and collected and daring the wanker to shoot,” she teases because she can’t admit how much it hurt to watch.

“No,” says Arthur. “That was him. That’s exactly what he said to the tape that the time the Albanians had him, just before they beat the hell out of him.” Arthur takes another series of deep breaths. “God knows why he thought saying it again was a good idea. Nearly broke my hand on the wall.”

“I didn’t want you to listen then either,” says Eames. “But of course you did because you are an insane control freak. It all ended okay though. I thought it would be a good omen.”

Arthur’s wheezing so badly it’s making Ariadne anxious. She wriggles in Eames grip until she can grab his arm and pull him into hug. He collapses limply against them.

“I hate this plan so, so much,” he mutters

“It was a bad plan,” agrees Eames, “I didn’t like it either. And I’m not the one who said we’d do it.”

“Christ, you can’t think I wanted to do it. But what was I supposed to do with Dom?”

“That’s your brother-in-law, right?” asks Ariadne.

“Right.”

“Who Eames hates?”

“I’m not all that fond of him either at the moment.”

“He’s an idiot,” says Eames. “He ended up on the wrong side of some very unpleasant people and we needed a lot of cash to buy him out of said trouble.”

“So you put together a plan and turned Arthur into a policeman and then Eames got a job with Nakatomi and you pretended to fall out – ”

Eames face does something complicated.

“You didn’t _pretend_ to fall out?” Ariadne goes very still as the sudden tension crackles around her.

Eames makes a hasty hush up gesture.

“Don’t even try it Eames,” snarls Arthur, “the plan’s come off, without even much of a hitch, you don’t need to act as if you can stand me any longer.”

“Oh I like that, who was the one who agreed it was better we didn’t meet up for the whole six months? Six months, Arthur.”

“You think I wanted to come out and see you in your new life. If Dom and that Ellis idiot hadn’t screwed the plan all to hell and you ended up being shot, you could have just stayed in place.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Eames is really furious. He eases Ariadne away from him and she ducks down as small as possible. She can hardly believe they’re not attracting more attention but the airport is crammed with people going home for the holidays, a family fight starting a little earlier than scheduled isn’t even pinging their radars.

“Because you’re a brilliant success. A brilliant, legitimate success, with no risk of being arrested, or short, or beaten up by bloody Albanians.”

“Oh and you weren’t doing exactly the same. You delayed coming out, you risked _the job_ because you had to wrap up a case.”

“Because Arthur Denton wasn’t going back and if I didn’t get things squared away Muller would walk.”

“You weren’t scheduled to die.”

“Arthur Denton was always going to die. Mal just didn’t tell you because you hate plans where I die.”

“And did this complete balls up finally make you grasp _why_ I hate plans where you die.”

“That’s my point. You hate the job. You should be doing something better. I understand Eames, I do.”

“That is so not my point. I love the job, mostly, I can do without Albanians. I just hate the bloody stupid messes your bloody stupid Dom drags us into. I can’t leave you because I’m terrified he’s going to get you killed.”

“Well you don’t have to worry because I’ve told him that’s it, I’m never working with him again.”

“You’ve told him that before.”

“Well this time I’ve told Mal too.”

“Oh.” Eames sags as fight whooshes out of him. “You really told her that?” he asks quietly.

“Yes I did. They took a year of our lives, a year of _your_ life. I told Mal that was it. That she needed to keep Dom out of trouble because they were on their own from now on. You can tell Dom believed me because he was such a wanker about us not seeing each for six months.”

“Six months Arthur.”

“I know.”

“Six months without you.”

“Yeah.” 

“Six months thinking this was you working up to leaving me.”

“What?” Arthur switches from tired and miserable to horrified. “No of course not. Where’d you get a crazy idea like that from?”

“Because you were thinking of leaving me. You set this cover up airtight Arthur. You spent way more money and effort than it needed.”

“Well if the plan went pear-shaped I wanted you to have someplace to hide. And if you did leave me, I wanted you to have someplace safe and soft to land.”

“Christ Arthur, you really are an idiot.”

“Sometimes,” Arthur admits. “So you’re not leaving me?”

“And you’re not leaving me?”

They still look tired and stressed but when Ariadne peeks around Eames’ shoulder she can see grins starting to light up their faces.

“Can I get a fucking trolley now?” demands an indignant member of public.

Suddenly all three of them are laughing so hard they can barely stand. Reeling, they stagger away from the baggage trolleys to a quiet patch of space by the wall behind a coffee outlet.

“That went well,” says Arthur.

“Oh whatever,” says Eames, “After making such a spectacle of ourselves they’ll never believe we’re us.”

“So you really did steal all that money?” Ariadne checks.

“Sure,” says Eames, “I told you Arthur was efficient. Though,” he turns to Arthur, “if we’re actually talking now instead of sarcasm and cold silencing perhaps you’ll tell me why you turned down my idea for staging the heist at the New Year’s Eve party. New Year’s Eve is always chaotic from a public order point of view. It would have been much better cover.”

Arthur shifts. Ariadne doesn’t know him well but he definitely looks self-conscious.

“Arthur.” Eames sounds like he’s considering getting angry again. Arthur must pick up on it too because he sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“Alright fine. So we’d already spent six months apart, I didn’t want to miss Christmas too.”

“Oh darling.” The hug sweeps Arthur off his feet. He sputters and pushes at Eames’s shoulders but not, Ariadne notes, very hard.

Eventually Eames lets him go. “I am so proud of you darling,” he ruffles Arthur’s hair. “You flat out lied to Dominic.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You told him Christmas Eve was the only possible day.”

“It was,” says Arthur flatly.

Eames hugs him again.

When their happiness isn’t quite so blinding, Ariadne asks,

“So are you safe now? There’s no danger from the police or the unpleasant people?”

“Should be all fixed up,” says Eames, “Arthur exploded the money and the bad guys so that’s sorted. Mal has her and Dom’s shares to negotiate with unpleasant people so that’s tied up. She’s Arthur’s sister so fairly efficient in her own right despite her appalling taste in men.”

“Eames!” Arthur scolds. “Dom is very sweet.”

Eames’ eyebrows go up.

“And an idiot, but sweet, and –, and –, and Mal loves him so he must have lots of good points. Also Mal said they’re going to try for a baby so that should keep them both out of trouble for the foreseeable future.”

“One can only hope.”

“Anyway, the splitting the loot didn’t quite go as expected. Yusuf argued that me and you and Mal and Dom counted as one couple each, as opposed to two individual people, and thus each couple should only have one share each instead of two. Meaning he got a third of the money instead of a fifth.”

Eames laughs out loud, “Good for Yusuf.”

“It was amusing. I figured you wouldn’t object.”

“No, I think it’s brilliant.”

“Good.” Arthur glances at his watch. “We should get going. Our flight leaves soon.”

The floor drops out from under Ariadne’s feet. 

“Leave? You can’t leave.” She grabs on to the sleeve of Eames hoodie, a pathetically flimsy hold to try and keep him with her.

Eames wraps his arm around her,

“Arthur can you..?”

“Tell me that I am a _genius_ insane control freak and that you love me.” Arthur reaches inside his jacket.

Ariadne stiffens because she doesn’t like the idea of Eames being made to beg, but Eames lights up.

“You are a genius insane control freak and I adore you,” and then he pounces. Arthur squeaks and tosses Ariadne a large brown envelope as Eames pushes him up against the wall and kisses him.

Ariadne opens the envelope cautiously. There’s a bunch of legal looking documents, a bank book, a passport; she quickly flicks through it and the picture is hers, but the name is Anne Eames.

“You went through a pretentious phase and decided you liked Ariadne better,” explains Arthur seriously as if it was a thing that actually happened. He turns to Eames, “I got you a sister for Christmas, hope you like her.”

“No refunds or exchanges,” mutters Ariadne feeling light headed. It’s all there in front of her, birth certificate and everything. Family.

“Hey sis,” Eames says quietly, crouching a little so his face is level with hers. Ariadne throws her arms around his neck, and oops, she’s crying again. 

When they’ve sorted themselves out a little, Arthur kicks one foot against the floor and says,

“So. I wasn’t sure how things would turn out and I wanted to be cover everything. I have tickets for William and Anne Eames to Hawaii if you want them.”

“Wow,” says Ariadne, “I’ve never been to Hawaii.”

Eames doesn’t look excited though, “Okay, first lesson in dealing with your irritating brother-in-law… You sure you’re up for this?”

Ariadne nods firmly.

“Okay, first lesson, you have to watch what Arthur doesn’t say. And what didn’t he say in this instance?”

Ariadne thinks it over, and, oh, “What he was doing?”

“Exactly.”

“I have a ticket too,” Arthur assures them, but Ariadne’s on to him now,

“Not to Hawaii though.”

Arthur sighs, “No, not to Hawaii.”

Ariadne looks at Eames, “You’re right, your Arthur is irritating isn’t he?”

“He has his redeeming features though. So go on, where did you book tickets for all three of us?”

“Canada,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. “Somebody I know keeps rabbiting on about white Christmases and open fires so…” he trails off leadingly.

“Evil genius control freak,” Eames grabs him and spins him around, waltzing him across the floor, singing, “ _We’re gonna have a party tonight, I’m gonna find that boy underneath the mistletoe and kiss by candlelight_.”

Arthur looks both hideously embarrassed and brilliantly happy.

Ariadne grins with delight and in support of her new brother – absolutely the best Christmas present ever and she has to clutch her hands together tightly to stop herself floating away from sheer happiness – joins in the singing, “ _oh Merry Christmas everyone._ ”

 

Merry Christmas!

  


\- Four weeks and three different countries later, Arthur comes back to their rented apartment with a small silver suitcase.

“This is supposed to be the ultimate tool for somebody who wants to be an architect.” He sets it on the table and flips open the lid.

Eames with his cat-like curiosity immediately goes to investigate the new thing. Ariadne drifts over more slowly, drawn despite herself to a dream she had abandoned. She looks down into the mess of wires and levers,

“What is it exactly?” 

“It’s called a PASIV,” says Arthur.


End file.
